


No-one's Going Quietly

by delgaserasca



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-23
Updated: 2007-12-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes you need someone who's in it with you." Megan helps Amita, as much as that's possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No-one's Going Quietly

"Look, I know it's not my place to say anything—"

"So don't." Amita takes another sip of coffee. Her tone is flat, but not unkind. She's just tired, Megan thinks, she's just stretched a little thin.

The café is two blocks away from campus, and they've taken to going there for lunch when they can. Megan likes the panini on offer, and it's convenient both price- and distance-wise for Amita. Megan's got friends aplenty, and she's got the guys, too, but sometimes you need a girl, and sometimes you need someone who's in it with you. Whatever 'it' is. It doesn't hurt that Amita's body is always warm when she brushes past, or that her smile is infectious. Sometimes Megan has to stop herself from reaching out and touching her, appropriately, inappropriately, it doesn't matter, just a touch.

The first time they came out for lunch they were running paperwork on a case that had closed the day before. Megan's never been all that up on numbers, and that's Amita's trade, so it made sense to get together to work out the trial prep. The second time Megan had come looking for Larry and found Amita instead. Megan doesn't remember the particulars, just that Larry wasn't there, and Amita was wearing the rose-coloured cardigan she'd been wearing the first time they'd been introduced.

The sky is bright today, and even the breeze is warm, but she's wearing it all the same. There's a small hole in the sleeve now, and the top button is coming loose, a thread escaping from the knitwork. The wool looks worn, just like Amita, and Megan fights the impulse to tug it off the girl and throw it in the trash. This is the third lunch they've had this week; the second time Amita's worn the same clothes. It doesn't take a genius to know Amita didn't go home the night before.

Megan doesn't have anything to offer that Amita wants to hear, so without thinking it through she offers the only thing she has. "You can stay with me, if you want. We can swing by Charlie's, get your stuff..." She tails off, watches for Amita's reaction. When none is forthcoming, Megan reaches out and covers Amita's hand, the one not cupping the mug of now-lukewarm coffee. "You don't have to stay with him."

Amita nods. "I know." A pause, and then— "I think I'd like to go and get my things now."

Smiling sadly in reply, Megan nods, reality taking its own sweet time to settle in. As it does, she feels guilt picking at the edge of her conscience, but she doesn't know what to do with that, so she pushes the feeling aside as she pushes out of her chair; she leaves her lunch unfinished.

 

 

If Megan felt awkward the first night Amita slept in the guest room, she feels it doubly as she walks into the bullpen on Monday morning. Larry called her twice over the weekend to ask if she knew where Amita was; Megan lied outright, told him she hadn't seen her since their lunch date on Friday. Not that she would have been able to tell the truth, not with Amita standing close enough to make Megan's skin heat up. When she put the phone down, Amita had hugged her fiercely, and Megan wondered - not for the first time - what Charlie had done to make the girl so anxious. And then that guilt had returned; she hadn't prolonged the contact more than necessary, but she also hadn't eased away.

Colby and David are leaning against the desks, pretending to flick through case reports even though their attention is focused on the break room. Megan wants to ask why, then sees Charlie in there, arguing with Don.

"Wonder what's going on," Colby murmurs, mostly to David. Megan thinks she can guess. Charlie chooses that moment to burst out of the break room, barely conscious of his surroundings. "Hey—" Megan calls as she sits down, but Charlie only throws a dark glance in her direction, storming towards the elevators.

"What was that about?" David asks, but quietly takes a seat as Don approaches. Megan half-expects him to say something to her, but he only looks at her thoughtfully. Then he sits down, too, mutters something about paperwork. Colby tries to catch her eye, but Megan ignores him. There's a lot of that going around.

 

 

Amita's pyjamas are bright red and muted pink, and Megan spends the evening wondering where she's seen them before. She brings home Chinese for them to share, but Amita waves off the offer. "I already ate. Thanks, though." She sits cross-legged on the couch, papers strewn over the coffee table and laptop on lap. Her hair is wet, slick under the lamp light, and curling rebelliously at the ends. Her phone is on the coffee table somewhere beneath the paper bomb, and it rings four times over the course of the night, though after the first time Amita doesn't bother to retrieve it. Instead it vibrates against the wood, tapping furiously every time another call comes in. The sound makes Megan's back itch; she forces a shiver and arches her spine to no avail.

Megan wants Amita to talk, to say something. It's been nearly a fortnight now and no-one is saying anything to her. David and Colby are speculating amongst themselves, whilst Don is all business; he doesn't ask how Megan is or how Larry's doing. Not that she would have anything to say on that front - she hasn't heard from Larry since he called to ask after Amita, and Don isn't sending Megan to CalSci anymore, probably to keep her away from Charlie's dark moods. Amita must see him on campus, but she doesn't mention it to Megan. She doesn't say anything.

There's no milk in the fridge; Megan restrains her frustration. She's the host, it's her responsibility to keep the place stocked. She looks across the kitchen island to where Amita is sitting in the lounge. Life can't go on like this. Megan feels like she's being cut out of a photo, an outsider by proxy. No-one's accused her yet, but Don's silence is implication enough: _you_ did this. _You_ broke this. Megan just wishes that someone would come out and say something so that she can fight her own corner, but even Amita seems to be shunning her. In the half-light the girl looks small, and Megan feels angry - angry at Amita for not fighting, and angry at herself for not forcing the issue. Still, she rationalises, it's only been two weeks. Sooner or later, something's got to give, right? She sits at the island and begrudgingly breaks into a takeout carton. She's not hungry, but she eats it anyway.

Amita stretches, gathers up her papers and comes across to the island. Leaning across the counter, she reaches into Megan's carton and pulls out a shrimp to eat before leaning over again and brushing her lips across Megan's cheek. Megan forces herself to smile and at natural, but she can feel the heat rising in her face. It's only as Amita heads to the guest room that Megan realises where she's seen the red top before. It's Charlie's.

She tosses all the take-out, finished or not, into the trash.

 

 

Two weeks, one trial, and one-and-a-half cases later, and Megan's had all she can take with the radio silence she's living in. Don is increasingly distant at work, and Megan finds that she can't talk to the boys who seem to be under the impression that she's committed a professional faux-pas of some sort - Colby thinks that Megan is sleeping with Don, but she is quick to correct him on that front.

Amita is mostly successful at avoiding Charlie and Larry, although Megan knows the two have to sit together in some faculty board meeting at least once a week. She is always home before Megan, and she is edging further and further into Megan's personal space, whilst still wearing the handful of Charlie's clothes that she has yet to return to him.

Larry hasn't called since this whole fiasco began, and Megan misses his company. She is certain that everyone is aware that Amita is, for all intents and purposes, living with her, although no-one is mentioning anything. The one time Larry came to the FBI offices with Charlie, he stayed in the war room and spoke only to the guys. Megan finds herself wondering if she has shown her cards somehow, if she'd given herself away to him a long time a go. Either way, she's increasingly frustrated by her inability to reach out to the people she knows best in this damn city, and she's still not any clearer on what Amita wants, if she wants anything at all. "You know what," she snaps, suddenly, the first thing she's said since walking in the door an hour before, "you can't keep hiding from him, Amita. You need to make a decision: are you with him, or aren't you?"

Amita looks surprised at the sudden interrogation, maybe even annoyed or offended, but before she can answer there's a heavy-handed knock on the door. Something in the air changes; maybe there's a scent, or a shadow that she's picking up on unconsciously, but Megan knows who it is even before he calls out.

"Megan? Open the door. I know she's in there."

Amita looks at Megan, shakes her head vigorously. Charlie keeps knocking.

"Megan! Amita! Amita, open the door. Please."

She makes a move towards the door; Amita's hands fly up in a repressive gesture. Her eyes are wide open, her forehead creased in distress. Megan feels like she's in limbo - more than that, she feels like she's being asked to make the same sort of decision she's just handed to Amita. Barter for second best, or stay the tide and see where it takes her. Some part of her is still tempted, just for the hell of it, to take a risk. Giving Megan a choice has always been a dangerous thing; too much temptation for her to swim upstream.

In the end, Charlie takes the decision out of her hands. There's a moment's quiet in which Amita half-relaxes before Charlie starts to throw his weight against the door. That when the situation changes. Megan points to her bedroom, Amita goes wordlessly, taking her bag and papers with her. Megan opens the door, and Charlie stumbles in. He's drunk, she realises, and she wishes she was, too, if only to make this week disappear a little quicker.

"Where is she?"

Megan sighs, heads towards the kitchenette. "She's not here." Recklessly, she adds, "You can check if you want. I'm going to make some coffee."

For a moment, Charlie looks like he might just start tearing the apartment up, brick by brick, but then his shoulders slump and he drags himself to the kitchen instead. Megan feels sorry for him, and that needle of guilt pricks at her skin again, though this time she acknowledges it for what it is. She offers Charlie a mug and a silent apology which he mistakes for sympathy, and they sit together in the quiet for the next couple of hours.

Megan tries to forget that Amita is trapped in the bedroom.

 

 

Charlie leaves late; Megan doesn't bother going to her room, she just knocks back two shots of vodka, and then falls asleep on the couch. It's Sunday when she wakes, stirred to consciousness by a warm hand brushing the hair from her eyes. Her vision is blurry, and she squints against the bright morning light, only to have the focus return and Amita's face come sharply into view. Megan tries to open her mouth to speak, her lips dry, and her tongue thick in her mouth. It's a redundant effort because Amita presses a finger lightly to her lips, and all thoughts flee from Megan's mind. She doesn't know what she was expecting, but this wasn't it.

—then Amita leans in, cups Megan's face, and rubs her bottom lip with her thumb - once, twice, and then once more with a little extra pressure. Megan's lips part instinctively as Amita closes the distance between them and kisses her precisely, just the once. Amita's mouth is soft, and her hand is warm against Megan's face; she licks her lips briefly, then kisses Megan again, just as quickly.

Megan doesn't say anything, doesn't know what to say, and Amita sits back on her haunches, stroking her face, and waiting for a response. Except Megan can't think, can't hear for the blood pounding through her skull, and the pulse ringing in her head. Finally, she swipes her tongue across her lower lip, and eases herself out of Amita's touch into an upright position. She can't see the clock, she doesn't know what time it is. She's doesn't care.

Amita is fully dressed - jeans, white tee, blue sweater. Her hair is down, loose waves around her face and over her shoulders; she'd look fierce if not for the morning light, which makes her pale. She looks wan and tired, and like so often this past month, Megan has nothing to say, nothing to give but silence. Eventually she just nods, and falls back against the couch. Amita smiles sadly, and rises to her feet.

"Thank you for— _thank you_. Really."

Megan doesn't see her leave, just hears her footsteps over the kitchen tiles, hears the door being unlocked and opened, and then a soft click as it closes, and Amita is gone.

Unable to move, Megan closes her eyes and falls asleep again. When she wakes it's past midday. She goes to the bathroom to wash her face and finds Amita's cardigan - the rose one with the hole in the sleeve, and the loose top button - draped carelessly over the bathtub, as though she was about to come back for it. the wool is soft in Megan's hands when she lifts it, and she contemplates tugging at it, ripping it from the middle out. She can hear the sound in her mind, the satisfying scratch of fibres rending from each other; but then she thinks better of it, and folds it carefully, putting it back where Amita had left it.

She washes her face, the cold water making the muscles in her face contract painfully, until she has no choice but to be conscious and alert. She goes to make something to eat, winding through the apartment on her way to the kitchen. Nothing else of Amita remains.

 

 

Don corners her in the war room first thing on Monday. He looks awkward in the doorway with his hands stuffed into his back pockets, so Megan knows what's coming next. She saves him the trouble of asking.

"She's gone. She left yesterday." She doesn't turn from the white board she's looking at, focuses on a smudge of resistant white tack still stuck to the smooth plastic surface. "I don't know where she went."

Don takes a moment to register this, then nods, biting his lip. "Yeah. Okay." He looks - he sounds like he's about to say something else, but then he exhales heavily and Megan wonders if this means she's off the hook now. "Okay. Briefing in five?"

"Sure."

"'Kay."

That's when she finally turns his way, when his figure retreats from her and makes its way to the bullpen. David and Colby are sharing out coffee; David makes a joke and the three of them smirk. Colby looks up and makes eye-contact, so Megan offers an unconvincing half-smile. Her lips feel raw and blemished, and when Colby doesn't look away, she forces herself to think of something else, anything else. Anything that isn't Amita's kiss, or her unapparent absence, or her cardigan sitting neatly folded on the bath tub.

**end.**


End file.
